


The Dragon's Mercy

by Survivor_reborn



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, ratings for future chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 16:10:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17770004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Survivor_reborn/pseuds/Survivor_reborn
Summary: King Aerys can sense wildfire in Joanna Lannister's veins, and seeks to claim it.





	The Dragon's Mercy

He sits upon his throne, morning hours away. The space is echoey and eerie. He sits and waits, watching moonlight slant across the floor and light in the dragons’ mouths, pale flame. Nothing to what living dragons were. Nothing to wildfire. _Nothing to her eyes_ , he thinks, bright, curious and downcast when he looks at her. _She, at least, respects me as she should._

He hears movement outside the throne room, does not move. If they would find him here, so be it. It is a king’s place, after all. This is his realm, after all. They are _his_ , after all. The door opens, spilling candlelight, molten all over the floor. As though he has summoned her with thought alone, the lioness steps into the room on slippered feet.

‘Who disturbs the king’s peace?’ He keeps his voice low, a purr across the room. The door closes with a clunk. The room is once more reduced to moonlight.

‘Joanna Lannister, Your Grace.’

‘Lock the door,’ he orders softly, listening for the scrape of metal. He will not be disturbed, not now. ‘Why are you here?’

‘I hoped for contemplation, Your Grace. The Queen—’

‘—Is not my concern.’ His voice is sharper than he intended. He softens it, partly to see if she will step forward. She does not. _Good_. ‘Come forward.’ He watches as she moves through the slivers of light, her hair glimmering like true gold. The candle in her hands makes her eyes glow green fire. She sets it at the foot of the throne, and looks up. Joanna’s curtsey is more than perfunctory, and Aerys feels a thrill run through his body at knowing she will not deny him, if he asks.

‘Your Grace,’ she says again, voice sweet.

‘My lady.’ His voice is honeyed and deep, pulling her in. ‘Light the fire, if you would.’

She picks up the candle, steps over to the nearest grate and kneels with fluid grace, touching the yellow flame to the kindling. Her eyes grow wide and she stumbles back as the fire rises green, bathing the room in its light. _They are the same shade_ , Aerys thinks. _She has wildfire in her veins_.

He descends the throne, moving to stand beside her. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ His fingers ghost down her bare arm, and he feels her shiver despite the warmth of his skin. ‘It consumes, _burns_ , for days.’

‘How is it tamed?’ she asks softly. ‘How is the throne room not ash?’

‘Just a little,’ he whispers. ‘A little coaxed into life will not harm us, my lady. You needn’t fear.’ He looks down at her and smiles, radiant and deadly. She doesn’t back away. ‘But my enemies,’ he croons, smile twisting. ‘My enemies fear me, Joanna, and rightly. I hope Tywin isn’t one of them.’

‘He loves you as a brother, Your Grace,’ she says, the tension in her body betraying her. ‘He would never, and you must not presume to—’ He grabs her by the throat, fingers digging into the pale skin.

‘You dare to tell me what I should do, child?’ he hisses. ‘I would be careful with that pretty tongue of yours, or I will show you the dragon’s mercy.’ Her eyes widen, and he drinks in the fear rolling off her. She agitates him to fury, but that’s what he wants. He needs her to know that he is a dragon. The lion’s flesh of his Hand would melt under his fire if he so wished, and she _must_ know that.

‘I’m sorry,’ she chokes out. ‘F-forgive me Your Grace-‘ He lets her go, and she gasps in air. He can see his fingerprints blooming purple in her flesh, and smiles.

‘You are forgiven.’ His voice is gentle as he takes her chin in his fingers, tipping her head and tutting. ‘I trust you will not do that again.’

‘No, Your Grace.’

‘Good girl,’ he murmurs. He lowers his head, giving her time to step away if she wills it, but she stays. His lips find her pulse, soothing the bruises there with his tongue. ‘You have the dragon’s favour, sweet lioness. Do not lose it.’


End file.
